❝When two people love each other, they don't-
-They don't what Alice? They don't break each other's hearts? Because you've already accomplished that.❞
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It was an almost nonexistent crash, a small clatter that I heard downstairs, that under normal circumstances wouldn't raise any worry to a normal person, but as a family, we were beyond normal, leading me to search for the source of the disturbance.
Slowly, I creeped down the stairs, worried of the level of how drunk my father really was. Even from the foot of the stairs, the pungent scent of spilled beer penetrated into the hallway, a drink my father did not usually have.
"Dad?" I called out into the dark abyss. It was late and dark, a Sunday evening, the day after my birthday party, where I woke up with a raging hangover and bruised lips.
I hated Sundays. Things always seemed to go wrong on Sundays.
Another bump.
"Dad, where are you?" I walked into the living room, taken aback by the huge mess I saw— that he made while still being silent.
The floor was soaked with the beer, a broken case of beer crunching under my shoes as I ventured deeper into the room, the coffee table toppled over, and a few dropped picture frames that littered the wet carpet. The T.V was on, flickering blue light across the room and a quiet hum of static drowning out whatever else my dad was doing.
His body staggered into the room, dark and all-consuming. I stepped back instinctively, the crunch of glass under my shoes giving notice to my father that I was there. "Dad?"
The darkness I had naively hoped had disappeared was back— he was cold once more, shutting his daughters out, drowning his pain in alcohol and anti-depressants, making all attempts to blame his misery on us, two teenagers.
His eyes narrowed at me and he shook a finger at me, advancing quickly on me. "You," he growled menacingly, sour breath blowing hotly into my face. "You're going to end up just like me," he laughed, hiccuping in the middle, "alone."
I swallowed, my heart racing, a sudden fear that one of those beer bottles would be smashed at me, a fear that my father would lash out at Angelica and I in the way only my drunk father could.
What happened to the father I knew last night? The one that sang to me and brought up my mother and celebrated my birthday willingly?
"You're not alone Dad, you have us," I replied quietly, refusing to step back and show that I was terrified, despite me being scared out of my mind.
He belched, beer fumes permeating the air, "And look where that's gotten me, I have two daughters, one a splitting image of me, the other my fucking dead wife," he threw an arm out, that hit me squarely in the chest, his eyes widening in immediate shock.
I stumbled back, almost losing my balance and falling into the glass shards, dazed and confused, and stared at him incredulously.
He too seemed confused, concerned maybe, and mumbled the words 'I'm sorry' over and over again. He reached forward toward me, his eyes glazed over, less worry contorting his face and more confusion, more suppressed rage.
